On Angels & Darkness
by Toblerone
Summary: Drabbles! A bunch of snippets that have been just lying around my hard drive, yearning to be set free. ML. Reviews Appreciated.
1. Bast

Her time in Seattle had lasted much longer than she had planned. Before she became acquainted with the wet streets and the space needle, it was rare for her to stay in one place more than couple months. But something had happened there, in a city she had come to only for gasoline and some cash. _Two months tops_ she had told herself _get a job, get some money, get some gas, and go._ She had wanted to go south, to the sun – far away from the snow that had given her nightmares since she was nine years old. What she hadn't been prepared for was how Herbals odd sayings could make her day seem less grim, or how endearing Sketchy could be when he wasn't being a dog, or the way Original Cindy and Kendra could make her laugh on the more dreary of days. People knew her name and considered her a friend. For once she was more than just a wanderer – a face in the crowd. Her presence was felt, appreciated. _Okay, I'll stay a little longer_ she'd decided _just a little longer._

But then she'd spotted a pretty statue and everything had changed.

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A/N: OMG I'm not dead!

A/N2: Ok, so basically I've had an extremely stressful insane year, but finally things are starting to come together. All the writing I've been doing and putting aside is starting to pile up and basically what we've got here are some little drabbles that have never really fit anywhere, but I'm going to share them with all of you anyway, so yay.

A/N3: Sightings is not dead. I'm working on it (i'll explain the delay on that one more when I post the next chapter which should hopefully be soon)

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Reviews are always appreciated! 


	2. Prior Meeting

This one is quite old.

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The first time they come in contact with one another is many years before they actually meet. It is 2013. He is twenty five and she is twelve. He is a young troubled reporter. She is a younger hungry street kid. He is thinking of his most recent story about a soup kitchen that had been regularly turning the homeless away but was still receiving funding. He'll have many similar stories in the future but this is the first that really hits hard. The first that really makes him stop and consider the steady decay of America. She is thinking that her last meal was too long ago and how that young rich guy looked awfully distracted.

By the time he realizes his wallet is gone she's already wolfing down the biggest meal she's had in weeks.


	3. Late Return

A longer one for you guys.

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She gets home late. Too late for him to be awake, but he is anyway. The lights are off and he sits in the dark, computer screens glowing, fingers flying, eyes darting. His hair is more disheveled than usual and he's still in his boxers and plain cotton t-shirt. Inspiration, unpredictable and impatient as always, must have hit while he lay in bed dreaming of clean streets and respectable leaders.

His hair is soft and he starts when she runs her fingers through it. He looks towards her and half smiles tiredly. His glasses rest at the very tip of his nose and his bare eyes gaze up into hers.

"Didn't hear you come in."

"You never do."

He rolls his eyes. These days he usually does hear her come in if he's still awake. Of course the easy detection has nothing to do with him. His hearing is no more acute than it was when they first met. No, the difference between then and now has less to do with his ears and more to do with her method of entering the apartment. These days, she just uses her key.

Why sneak into a place if you practically live there?

However, he does not refute her claim. It's old joke, full of double meanings and personal history. Besides he rather likes it when she sneaks up on him, it reminds him of all the pleasant surprises she has filled his life with.

She leans over his shoulder to read the words on the screen.

"A dummy corporation then?"

"That's what I'm thinking."

"Huh… Well, he's smarter than the last guy we dealt with."

_We._How he loves that tiny two-lettered word.

"The last guy we dealt with wasn't all that smart to begin with"

"This is true. Is any of that chicken left over?"

"I haven't had any."

"Ok I'm gonna grab some and go to bed."

She presses her lips to his temple and murmurs "don't stay up too late" before heading to kitchen. He smiles to himself, his concentration completely thrown off, and muses on how things can change and stay the same simultaneously.

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So these are just a three of the things that are floating around the Toblerone vault of DA fanfiction (oh no mixed metaphors oO). I'm gonna polish and post a few more, hopefully these will tide you peeps over until Sightings is finally fit to be read.

I love my reviews! They're like chocolate, and you all know how much I love that.


	4. Name

At Manticore, Max had been her secret name. She could remember the first time she'd heard the unusual little word. It was so different from all she's known, so unlike "designation" "mission" or "Lydecker." How short and strange it had seemed in the beginning, how taboo and wonderful. The thrill of secrecy and identity filled her at odd moments, standing at attention in the hot sun or starting up at concrete ceiling of the barracks in the dark night.

'Max, Max, Max,' her mind would buzz.

'I'm Max.'

On the outside, in the real world, it was not so secret. 'Max' was thrown around with little consideration. It seemed as if she couldn't go a few seconds without hearing it uttered. And so some of the awe was lost in everyday use, as so many childhood treasures are. But, individuality continued to thrive and soon the word held more meaning than the girl called 452 could have ever dreamed up. Her name was more than the shadows Ben's fingers made on the wall.

"Who are you?" They would ask.

"I'm Max."

In his apartment, it was as if she was hearing it for the first time. When the word rolled off his lips she was reminded of how it had felt in the beginning. The excitement and fear would come rushing back and suddenly it was as if she had been 452 all along, desperately masquerading as an average citizen. He, this man whole knew both number and name, declared 'Max' to be the truth (as he did many things). And finally 'Max' was just that. Truth.

"Max," he would say.

"That's my name," she would reply, "don't wear it out."

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**A/N: Ok it's official, Iron & Wine is my Max & Logan music. I put some on to write something else (I do a lot of writing for work) and suddenly this came to me. Actually, that's not entirely true - the first line of this I've had written down for a while (years???). I don't what it is about Sam Beam's soft voice and wonderful guitar picking, but every time I hear it DA stuff just comes to me. At Least This was pretty much written to the album _Our Endless Numbered Days_. So, if you want something to blame this on, blame _Innocent Bones_ from _The Shepherd's Dog_ - that's where this story came from. **

** Reviews, as always, are appreciated.  
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	5. Remembrance

**_Here's another short one:_**

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His mother's eyes were hazel. Her hair was red. She died on a Saturday. Over the years the image of her in his mind had deteriorated. When the corrosion first began, a few years after her death (more like a few months if he was honest with himself), he'd sometimes frantically rip open a photo album in the middle of the night. He would stare at her pictures for hours and desperately memorize the lines of her face and the curve of her smile. It didn't do much to fill the empty spaces she had left behind, but it was an apt distraction from the ache her absence had brought about.

When Max died, there were no photo albums. There was only a blurry still from a security camera. He didn't wait until the middle of the night to stare at it. But this time around a mere likeness was nowhere near enough to get him through the lonely hours. So he turned his eyes elsewhere and revenge replaced remembrance.

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**This one is _really_ old. It was originally part of Fortune's Fool - before that story was even in first person. I can't remember why exactly I took it out - probably just didn't fit in. In FF Logan was this bitter, broken creature on the verge of death - it was how I thought he might have gotten had all the virus ass-hatery and the lying and the fake-alex/max-affair-thing continued. Also I was trying to show the chaos of a battlefield and how fear and death can make the mind go into overdrive. As a result, it was very rushed and gritty and whatnot and I think some people were thrown by that - particularly the cursing. Maybe this bit was a bit too peaceful and introspective for my taste at the time. **


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